


Under Cover

by CreatorOfWorlds



Category: Les Trois Mousquetaires | The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas, The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, Crossdressing, Dresses, Gen, Hurt d'Artagnan, Hurt/Comfort, Murder, Other, Prostitutes, Rape/Non-con Elements, Serial Killer, Trigger Warnings, Undercover, brothel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 16:52:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11063151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CreatorOfWorlds/pseuds/CreatorOfWorlds
Summary: Someone is murdering Prostitutes and their clients in a fancy Parisian Brothel. The Musketeers are tasked with finding and stopping the murderer.Porthos suggests that d'Artagnan goes undercover as a Prostitute.Things aren't as funny anymore.





	Under Cover

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS.   
> There is rape in this. I'm not sure if it's really very explicit, but, rape is rape is rape. It's explicit enough. If rape or murder triggers you then please do not read this.

Aramis whistled. “Woah, d’Artagnan. You would have made a beautiful woman,” he teased.

The young lad glared at the older Musketeer. He really didn’t want to do this, but a high end brothel was being targeted. Several of the women who worked there had been brutally murdered, as had some of the clients, including a prominent Lord of the Kings Court. The task had fallen to the Musketeers to find whoever was responsible for the murders

At some point, someone had suggested they go undercover to the brothel. Because perhaps it was one of the prostitutes committing the killings. The suggestion had been agreed upon, but they didn’t have anyone to go undercover with the prostitutes. 

d’Artagnan resolutely refused to ask Constance. She had already played the part of a whore for their missions before, but she and d’Artagnan were no longer talking, and the young Musketeer didn’t want to endanger the woman again. 

This left the Musketeers with a little hiccough in their plan. Until Porthos jokingly said that d’Artagnan should pretend to be a woman. Before d’Artagnan had the chance to resolutely refuse - and smack the taller man - Treville had agreed to the idea, surprising everyone, particularly d’Artagnan, who attempted to thwart the plan, but Treville ignored him.

So, it was decided, the youngest Musketeer would go undercover as a prostitute, while the others would pose as clients at the brothel. 

Within hours, the Musketeers had tracked a woman down to help them. Somehow, Aramis had convinced Constance to help, without informing d’Artagnan of the fact. The woman arrived at d’Artagnan’s room in the Garrison with bags that Aramis and Porthos were carrying, though she quickly booted the chortling Musketeers from the room. 

Alone, there was no denying the tension and awkwardness that could be cut with a knife. d’Artagnan would barely even look in the married woman’s direction. The room was silent for several long minutes. 

“d’Artagnan,” Constance broke the silence. d’Artagnan refused to look at her.

“If I had known they were planning on bringing you into this, I would have told them not to,” d’Artagnan whispered. 

Constance sighed. “ I know that, d’Artagnan. But you need my help. Women are being murdered. It doesn’t matter if they are prostitutes or not, they are still women, still human. Besides, just because I won’t be with you, doesn’t mean I don't want to be your friend,” the young woman said, pleaded. 

d’Artagnan finally turned to her. “But, it hurts,” he whispered. 

“I know,” Constance agreed. “We can start out small. Baby steps. Let me turn you into a woman,” she ended with a grin. d’Artagnan laughed weakly. 

“What do I need to do?” he asked. Constance eyed the young man a moment, her dark blue eyes roaming over his tall, lanky body. 

“Well,” she began. “firstly, we will need to shave your face… and your side burns,” she instructed. 

d’Artagnan set about doing so quickly. He hadn’t really shaved his face fully in a very long time, just trimming it to a short stubble. He felt odd having a clean shaven face. It took him a long time to grow his beard, and now it was gone. 

“Take your shirt off,” Constance said next. At d’Artagnan’s raised eyebrow she rolled her eyes. 

“You’ve got hair on your chest which needs to go as well,” she explained. d’Artagnan’s eyes widened in abject disbelief. 

“Come on, d’Artagnan,” Constance prompted with a nudge before the lad could argue.

d’Artagnan removed his shirt and undershirt, and let Constance shave his torso. He felt oddly naked without that smattering of hair.,

Next, Constance pulled out several dresses and corsets. 

“The good thing about you being a prostitute is that we don’t have to worry about a really expensive dress,” the woman said absently as she sorted the items out. 

d’Artagnan found a new appreciated for women and the struggles they had to go through every day. 

Constance helped the lad into a pale corset, pulling it tight and tying it up. d’Artagnan was not lying when he told her he could barely breathe.

“Suck it up,” Constance told him lightly. “Women have been doing this for a long time with little in the way of complaints. You’re doing it for a day,” d’Artagnan realised she was enjoying this immensely. 

Constance helped him into several different dresses, trying to find one that she found appropriate. Then came the hair and make up. All of it was torturous and painful, and d’Artagnan really wanted to strangle Porthos for suggesting this in the first place. 

Finally, after several hours, Constance went to find Athos, Porthos and Aramis, and then dragged the dress wearing d’Artagnan out for them all to see. 

d’Artagnan really wanted to smack Aramis for his comment.

“He’s right, d’Artagnan. Any woman would be jealous of you,” Constance murmured. d’Artagnan’s glare darkened. “Don’t frown. You’ll give yourself wrinkles,” the woman admonished with a flap of her hands. 

d’Artagnan knew he was blushing beneath his make up. His three friends were all staring at him, almost gawping. He felt stupid and so embarrassed, and they weren’t helping in the least. 

“He’s too pretty to be a whore,” Porthos muttered. d’Artagnan snorted at big Musketeers words. At his smile, Athos, Porthos, Aramis and Constance all gaped. 

“What?” He demanded, more self conscious than he had ever been. He wanted to hide. 

“You look breathtaking,” Constance said after a moment, with the three men by her sides nodding their heads. d’Artagnan didn’t know what to say. He certainly didn’t feel breathtaking, and not just because he couldn’t breathe courtesy of the corset that was constricting his air flow. 

**

The afternoon wore on. The three older Musketeers changed into common clothing, rather than their uniforms, and they all headed to the surprisingly upmarket brothel, all managing to arrive at different times - d’Artagnan first. 

The Madame of the Brothel was the only person that knew of the undercover operation going on in her brothel, but she fully supported it, because several of her favourite girls had been murdered, and she was absolutely terrified. 

Madame Roux took d’Artagnan up to the room that he would be using, and showed him to the lounge where men would come and choose their lady for the night, where the other girls waited. 

d’Artagnan tried to converse with some of the girls, pitching his voice softer and higher than his normally deep baritone. He had to keep reminding himself to maintain that gentle voice. He didn’t want to just come straight out to the girls and ask questions about the murders. He had to keep his charade up, even with the prostitutes. 

Apparently, though, the murders hadn't diminished the clientele, because there was a steady stream of men all evening. 

d’Artagnan tried to avoid being chosen by any men, because he had no idea what would happen if he had to take one of them back to his appointed room. He was immensely relieved as his brothers slowly trickled in. 

The lounge of the brothel also doubled as a bar, and that was where Athos seemed content to stay. 

d’Artagnan noted that although his fellow Musketeers are generally talking to the working girls, that they were all keeping a close eye on him, which reassured him. d’Artagnan had no weapons, and he felt completely naked without them. 

Several men had expressed interest in d’Artagnan - and his black dress, coiffed hair and kohl rimmed eyes - but every time, one of his brother managed to intercede. 

Then came the one man that approached when none of the Musketeers where paying any attention. He was tall, taller than Porthos, with huge muscles. d’Artagnan knew that the man would be considered handsome. He was smiling at d’Artagnan, offered him a drink, and chatted to him. 

It only took a few minutes before the man - introduced as Mathis - began to escort d’Artagnan from the room. d’Artagnan had no idea what to do, how to turn down a client when he was supposed to be a prostitute. 

He couldn’t even see his friends. He tried to remain calm, but panic bean to set in. Unwillingly, d’Artagnan led Mathis to the room that had been assigned to him for the night. 

Mathis locked the door behind him, and nudged d’Artagnan toward the bed. d’Artagnan moved a bit, but refused the nudge onto the bed. The smile on Mathis’ face began to fade. 

“Why are you resisting, Charlotte? This is what you do,” Mathis said, and d’Artagnan wanted to argue, but he also didn’t want to blow the mission.

The man leaned toward him, and d’Artagnan raised his arms to push him away, but Mathis grabbed his wrists tightly and pressed his lips against d’Artagnan, while the boy struggled, trying to break the bruising grip on his arms, to no avail. 

When Mathis forced his tongue between d’Artagnan’s lips, the boy bit, causing Mathis to rear back. But, that resulted in a hard back hand across his face, which sent d’Artagnan reeling onto the bed, head pounding with pain, and his vision momentarily blacking out. 

When his vision cleared, Mathis was climbing atop d’Artagnan, his lips once again on his, and hands roaming down his neck. d’Artagnan struggled beneath Mathis, but he couldn’t budge the much larger man. 

The corset, and the aded, heavy weight on top of him was making it extra difficult to breathe.

Suddenly, there was a tearing sound. Mathis had ripped the dress and was tearing the corset off as well. The man paused fleetingly when he saw d’Artagnan’s flat chest and narrow waist. 

“Huh. That’s disappointing,” Mathis muttered, and for one brief moment, d’Artagnan thought Mathis was going to leave, but his relief didn’t last, because the man was back at it, and tore d’Artagnan’s underskirts off. Once again he stopped at the sight. d’Artagnan kept struggling though. 

“Oh, dear,” Mathis muttered. He looked annoyed for a moment, before a truly terrifying grin made d’Artagnan freeze. “Good thing I have broad tastes,” Mathis said, and got back to work. 

The next hour or so was nothing less that torturous for d’Artagnan. Pain, fear, disgust, horror, all melded together. He was screaming and crying, begging, calling out for Athos and Porthos and Aramis, pleading for them to save him. Mathis just laughed at him.

“These walls are soundproofed. You ain’t my first whore. I’ve been here before,” Mathis told him gleefully. That didn’t stop d’Artagnan’s crying though. 

Mathis just kept going, taking everything d’Artagnan had. using force and violence. It seemed that Mathis liked to cause pain. He liked the screaming and the begging. He liked the blood and the horror. 

Eventually, it was over. Mathis lay half atop d’Artagnan, his eyes closed, sated. 

“It’s you, isn’t it?” d’Artagnan whispered. “You killing the whores and the men,” His voice was hoarse, throat sore. Mathis chucked.

“Yup,” he agreed. He didn’t even ope his eyes. 

The terror climbed in d’Artagnan once again. Once the man was rested, he was going to kill d’Artagnan. Yet right now, he was snoring on his chest. 

In his renewed fear, d’artagnan struggled, unable to get out from under Mathis. His eyes darted around the room, looking for something, anything that could help him. Somehow, his eyes landed on the bedside table where a dangerously sharp knife lay. With a jolt, he realised that it was the weapon the man had been using to kill. 

Very slowly and carefully, painfully, d’Artagnan reached across and managed to grab the knife. Quickly, he brought the knife to the mans neck. When Mathis opened his eyes, d’Artagnan slit his throat. 

The warm blood squirted all over d’Artagnan’s face, and Mathis full weight collapsed on him. Dead. 

Relief and a strange sense of calm washed through d’Artagnan, and he slowly pushed the dead man off him, gingerly climbing off the bed. 

d’Artagnan knew the the clothes he had been wearing were destroyed, so he searched for anything else to wear, because he was not leaving this room naked. Mathis had barely removed any of his own clothes, but d’Artagnan was not going to wear his clothes either. 

A tall wardrobe on the other side of the room caught d’Artagnan’s eye, and upon opening it, he discovered both dresses and mens clothing. Surprised, d’Artagnan got dressed. He didn’t even bother wiping his face down when he unlocked and opened the door that had held him captive. 

There was no one in the hallway outside his room, so he made his way to the lounge, hoping his brothers would still be there. 

Several women screaming when he walked in, and all three Musketeers were sitting near the bar. 

“d’Artagnan!” they bellowed in unison, and rushed to him. 

“It’s not my blood,” d’Artagnan said before any of them could ask. He mentally added that it wasn’t all his, but he wasn’t going to say that. “It’s Mathis’ blood. He’s the man that’s been doing the murders. He’s dead.” d’Artagnan informed them, his voice distant, even to his own ears. 

Somehow, d’Artagnan managed to find the resolve to lead his three brothers to the room where Mathis’ body lay. He didn’t want to know what the three Musketeers were thinking as they all took in the sight of the dead man, and the half trashed room. 

“You fought?” Athos asked. 

d’Artagnan wanted to vomit. “Yes.” he managed. 

“Why didn’t you call for help?” Porthos demanded. d’Artagnan wanted to tell him that he did. That he screamed and begged for them to save him, to help him, but that they never came for him. They didn’t help him.

“The wall are soundproof,” was all he said, turning away. 

“Did you get hurt?” Aramis asked once he had made sure that Mathis was dead. 

d’Artagnan considered lying to the medic. “He got a few hard hits in,” he admitted. “He was very strong,” he added in a whisper. 

Athos, Porthos and Aramis were shooting him worried looks, but he really wasn’t up to dealing with it.

“Can we go back to the Garrison? I want to wash this blood and make up off me,” he tried not to sound like he was begging, because he didn’t think he would ever be able to beg again. 

The three agreed with him, and they all left the brothel and headed back to the Garrison. 

d’Artagnan refused the need for help and excused himself to get clean, so glad that none of the men argued with him. 

**

d’Artagnan scrubbed at his face, at his body, trying to clean everything off himself. He didn’t think he would ever feel clean again. 

**

The Inseparables were waiting in his room when d’Artagnan returned from trying to get clean. The blood was all gone from his face now. 

“Nice bruises there,” Athos drawled upon seeing the youngest Musketeer. d’Artagnan had a black eye, split lip and bruises spreading down from his hairline to his jaw. Those were the only bruises visible though. 

“I did mention that he managed a few hits?” d’Artagnan muttered. Aramis ushered him to sit on his bed. 

“I just want to check these wounds, make sure there’s no concussion or broken bones,” he explained. Aramis’ large, warm hands landed on the younger Musketeers face, tilting it to and fro gently. d’Artagnan only just managed to refrain from flinching away from his friends touch, but the pain his probing fingers caused made him hiss. 

“I’d safely say you have at least a minor concussion,” Aramis concluded several moments later. 

d’Artagnan shrugged. “Figured I would,” he said. He noticed Athos staring at him peculiarly. “What?” he asked resignedly. 

“It looks like you have bruising on your neck,” his mentor said softly. Before d’Artagnan had the chance to reach up and touch his neck, Aramis’ hands were pulling his shirt aside, whistling in surprise. 

“These look like he tried to strangle you,” Although it was said as a statement, d’Artagnan knew Aramis was questioning him. 

“There was a bit of a fight,” d’Artagnan reluctantly admitted. “Mathis had the upper hand for a moment. I managed to kill him in the end. He was an extremely strong man, and my fighting was limited by the stupid dress,” he defended himself, even though no one was accusing him. “Now, if you don’t mind. I am very tired and would like to go to sleep,” 

d’Artagnan didn’t mean for his tone to be so sharp, nor to sound so angry at his brothers, but their questioning was leading to things he didn’t want to think about. 

Aramis held his hands up in surrender. “Sorry, lad. We can’t let you sleep with a concussion. You might not wake up.” 

d’Artagnan knew that the medic was only being honest, but he still felt threatened and stifled. He wanted to be alone. His room felt like it was getting smaller and smaller, and it was getting harder and harder to breathe. 

“I won’t sleep,” he didn’t plead, but it was damn close. 

“You look dead on your feet, boy. If we leave you will go to sleep. Why doesn’t Athos stay to keep you company?” Aramis suggested, his voice gentle.

d’Artagnan considered this. He really wanted to be alone. But, Athos was quiet, and he wasn’t likely to ask questions. He shrugged his shoulders. 

“Fine,” he knew that they weren’t going to let him be completely alone. They were too protective to do that. But, it was really too late for their protectiveness, because the worst thing hand already happened, and they hadn’t stopped it.


End file.
